Mr. William Darcy VIII is the hero of Steampunk Darcy. He is here to indulge in one of his favourite treats.

~~~

“Mr. William Darcy VIII,” intoned the automaton Butler.

From her place at the helm, Lady Kitty Crumpledoodle suppressed an unladylike whoop of triumph. Mr. Darcy had actually deigned to come. The clatter of cups and scraping of forks against china in the gondola ceased as everyone turned towards the entrance.

“Could you take over, please?” she said to her lieutenant and craned her neck to catch her first glimpse of the famous personage.

He strode into the Filigree as though he owned it, his silver gaze sliding over the room to locate his hostess.

She hurried across the gondola, which was no easy task, given the scattering of white-covered covered tables scattered around. It would not do to keep Mr. Darcy waiting. Why, he might even decide to leave, which would be such a disappointment.

Pretending to be gazing over the edge of the Gondola down to the spires of the houses of Parliament just beneath them, Lady Crumpledoodle examined him surreptitiously.

The newscasts didn’t do him justice at all. They didn’t capture that sense of energy and they didn’t capture the particular glimmer of those silver grey eyes. Raven black hair with a green swirl slouched down over the top of his left eye and slid just behind his ear to touch his neck. A tailored green frockcoat skimmed the top of his knees. He had clearly chosen his silver cravat to match his eyes. A silver earpiece with jade stones complemented his outfit.

Everything looked deliberate, except that it was ever so slightly skewed. His earpiece and cravat were crooked, his hair rumpled, and his shirt not quite as starched as it ought to be. On anyone else, this might have diminished his appearance, but in his case, it added to his sense of purpose. He looked like a Victorian gentleman, but he gave the impression of something else completely; something with hazardous potential like a steam engine, full of driving energy.

He raised a monocle to his eye.

“So what entertainment do you have prepared for us, Lady Crumpledoodle?”

“You,” said Lady Crumpledoodle. “You shall be our entertainment.”

She waited tensely for his reaction. Would he turn and return to his own dirigible?

He took it in his stride. Slanting his left brow upwards, he gave her a quick smile. “I see. So I am to be your buffoon? How exactly do you propose that I entertain you?”

“You are to answer questions from our guests.”

He wasn’t happy about it. Still, he was too much of a gentleman to raise a fuss.

“I am at your service, madam. Meanwhile, rumor has it that you are serving your famous mince pies. I wonder if you would indulge me with one, along with a cup of white tea.”

~~~

As you can see, Mr. Darcy would be happy to answer questions. He will choose a selected few and give them his best shot.

Monday, November 25, 2013

William Darcy is obsessed with his ancestors. So much so that he intends to rebuild Pemberley (destroyed during the Uprising) stone by stone, and he wants to employ reconstruction expert Seraphene Grant to help him.

Or does he? Seraphene wasn't born yesterday. She can smell a rat, particularly when it stinks all the way up to her airship. She knows Darcy is hiding something. But with the Authorities after her and her other options dwindling by the moment, the temptation of genuine English tea and a gorgeous Steampunk gentleman are very difficult to resist.

But what if Darcy's mystery job courts nothing but trouble? What if Darcy is harboring a secret to kill for? When kiss comes to shove, will Darcy's secret destroy Seraphene, or will it be her salvation?

Join us on a romantic adventure like no other in this whimsical Pride and Prejudice-inspired tribute, featuring Darcy (of course), Wickham, dirigibles, swash-buckling pirates and a heroine with fine eyes and an attitude.

She's a water Elementalist, the strongest of her dwindling kind. She creates steam to provide energy to fuel Dome Four: the only thing standing between humanity and an earth ravaged by World War III.

No steam, no Dome. No Dome, no life.

Or so she thinks.

That is, until a mysterious man offers her a way out of having to donate steam. A way to escape the corrupt government of Dome Four. While the offer seems too good to be true, Avery is intrigued. But when she arrives to her new home, she realizes the grass isn't any less dead on this side of the fence.

Instead, the lies are just hidden better.

...Which means digging deeper.

When Avery enlists the help of her friends to uncover the truth, she learns that while some secrets are better left concealed, humankind was never meant to live in a cage. And when you can control the most sought after resource, you can learn to control anything...including the fate of your world.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Lady Crumpledoodle suggests that you try a few savory treats. The onion samosas over there are to die for!

~*~

She also would like to introduce some adventurous souls on board with special stories of their own.

Feel free to let Lady Crumpledoodle know in comments which story intrigues you.

~*~

Niece of Sherlock Holmes, Evalina Cooper...

A Study in Darkness
Book Two in The Baskerville Affair
by Emma Jane Holloway
released: Octpber 2013

When a bomb goes off at 221B Baker Street, Evelina Cooper is thrown into her uncle Sherlock’s world of mystery and murder. But just when she thought it was safe to return to the ballroom, old, new, and even dead enemies are clamoring for a place on her dance card.

Before Evelina’s even unpacked her gowns for a country house party, an indiscretion puts her in the power of the ruthless Gold King, who recruits her as his spy. He knows her disreputable past and exiles her to the rank alleyways of Whitechapel with orders to unmask his foe.

As danger mounts, Evelina struggles between hiding her illegal magic and succumbing to the darker aspects of her power. One path keeps her secure; the other keeps her alive. For rebellion is brewing, a sorcerer wants her soul, and no one can protect her in the hunting grounds of Jack the Ripper.

Janus Mikani and Celeste Ritsuko work all hours in the Criminal Investigation Division, keeping citizens safe. He's a charming rogue with an uncanny sixth sense; she's all logic--and the first female inspector. Between his instincts and her brains, they collar more criminals than any other partnership in the CID.

Then they're assigned a potentially volatile case where one misstep could end their careers. At first, the search for a missing heiress seems straightforward, but when the girl is found murdered--her body charred to cinders--Mikani and Ritsuko's modus operandi will be challenged as never before. Before long, it's clear the bogeyman has stepped out of nightmares to stalk gaslit streets, and it's up to them to hunt him down. There's a madman on the loose, weaving blood and magic in an intricate, lethal ritual that could mean the end of everything...

~*~

Chief surgeon for the Wardens, Evelyn Stone...

Breath of Iron
A Novel of the Clockwork Agents
by Kate Cross
released: August 2013

Sworn to protect England from all enemies, the Wardens of the Realm are ever vigilant. But not all battles are fought on a battlefield…sometimes they are fought in the heart.

As chief surgeon for the Wardens, Evelyn Stone fears her own life is on the line when she is kidnapped by a band of pirates—only to discover that the airship captain is Gavin “Mac” MacRae—her former lover. The man whose life she once saved. The man she abandoned.

Since Evelyn left, Mac made his mark as both a pirate and a pilot. But his true allegiance isn’t known. So when he asks Evie for help with a wounded woman onboard, he tells Evie that the woman is his wife—even if his feelings for Evie have never waned…

As the days pass, however, the unease between Evie and Mac gives way to the old comfort they used to have. Yet, their newly ignited romance is complicated by conflicting loyalties and desires, and a betrayal that may cost them both their love and their lives.

When her true love, Steven, is forced to break their magical bond, Noli Braddock decides to join her brother on the crew of the Vixen’s Revenge.

With its gleaming brass, dark wood, and spotless clockwork gears, the Vixen’s Revenge is a beautiful airship. But Noli discovers a dangerous secret beneath its polished exterior—the crew has been hired to steal dozens of priceless Otherworld artifacts. Desperate to keep her past Otherworld experiences hidden from the airship crew, Noli fears that if she doesn’t risk telling her own secrets, the stolen artifacts will be used to destroy both of the worlds she loves.

A girl wearing a sari, with a scarlet silk scarf tied around her flowing black hair, and a small pistol in a red leather holster at her hip, flashes a disarming smile.

Farissa: Oh, Lady Kitty, please forgive us. Zel is desperately afraid of heights, and it took us awhile to convince him of your dirigible's safety.

Farissa's holding hands with a tall, solemn looking black young man who swallows, and looks nauseous.

Lady Kitty: Pish posh, the Filigree is as safe as any other mode of transportation there is.

Zel: That isn't saying much.

Farissa clears her throat.

Zel: I've read the research, and the engine you have on this thing isn't nearly as efficient or safe as it could be.

Farissa: Do excuse him. He can't even take a bath without noticing how the bath could be improved scientifically. Ooo...is that blackberry tart? We don't have those in Dyn and I've always wanted to try one. *she eats the tart in one bite*

Lady Kitty: I thought you were supposed to be a princess.

Farissa: Thank the stargods I'm not! I almost was, and would have been, if not for Zel. *she gives him a loving glance* I'd rather eat my own kidney than be a princess and have to strut around with the rulers all day.

Farissa lives every moment with reckless abandon, for it may be her last. Any day now, the alien goddesses will harvest her and take her to the mysterious Silver Sickle, never to return. She’s accepted that. What she can’t accept is this new idea of freedom Zel has planted in her head. She’d give almost anything to be with Zel, but how can she run from her destiny if it means putting the whole kingdom in danger?

Everyone in the desert kingdom believes the goddesses are immortal, but Zel has invented a way to kill them. Now all he has to do is convince Farissa to run away with him and plant a seed of hope in her heart that she’s not destined to die. Little does he know that one seed of hope could change the course of the future.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

A few ladies hover around the petit fours and chat about this news article from America...

~*~

Excerpt (partial): from The Ravens of Solemano by Eden Unger Bowditch

PROLOGUE:

The following article appeared in The New York Times, fall 1903 (actual date withheld).

FOUND DEAD IN TUNNEL

Body of Italian, Full of Stiletto Wounds, Near Jerome Park Reservoir

The body of a murdered Italian was found yesterday by John Martins, a foreman of the Jerome Park Reservoir, in the new tunnel which, when opened, will connect the reservoir with the High Bridge Aqueduct, within about 100 feet of the opening.

The body of a young man in his early 20s was in an advanced state of decomposition, although a scar was evident across the eyelid of the victim’s left eye.

Martins notified Policeman Bailey of the King’s Bridge Station and telephoned Coroner O’Gorman. When they examined the body, it was found that there were nine stiletto wounds in it—six in the back, two in the breast, and one in the stomach . . .

Near where the body had been there was found a long and murderous stiletto, with strange signs carved on the handle . .

~~~

The New York City police came to the conclusion that the young man was Italian. This was because Italian coins were found in his jacket pocket, and because his rather worn clothes had tailoring marks in Italian. The trousers, it was noted, were made in Italia.

But in truth, these were not revelations of vast importance. These were not such terribly mysterious or, in the end, even important clues. The fact that he was Italian would matter little to the police of New York City. He could have been Greek or Armenian, or even from the United States. The police would never know what had happened in that tunnel or why. In the end, they would close the case. They would call it “murder by person or persons unknown,” and only a handful of people far, far away would be faced with the darkest of facts.

The article did, however, fail to mention three terribly mysterious and infinitely more important clues. First, in the right hand of the victim was a corner of a map. It was a very tiny piece of a map that, when completely unfolded, would show, to someone who knew the region very well, a sliver of the Appennini, or Apennine, mountain range. Second, in the left hand, the victim held a fistful of black feathers. Third—and the utter and total absence of this clue from the written newspaper article was in no way the fault of the journalist, his editors, the coroner, or the police investigators at the scene, because this terribly mysterious and most important clue was gone by the time any of them even knew there was a body in that tunnel—hidden by a rock, much farther down the tunnel, in the shadows, there was an envelope, crumpled beyond recognition, with a broken wax seal and a torn note inside that, when it was intact, and the ink had not run from the wetness, and the note was legible, read simply, “They will be on the train.”

The Ravens of Solemano
or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black
(The Young Inventors Guild)
by Eden Unger Bowditch

It has been mere days since the brilliant children of the Young Inventors Guild escaped from the clutches of the horrible Komar Romak.

They've escaped with their lovely and caring schoolteacher, Miss Brett; with their long-absent parents; and with their bizarre captors, protectors, or both--the mysterious men in black. And now they travel by train, destined for parts unknown.

But a note torn from the hand of a dead man in a New York tunnel guarantees that safety is an illusion. When the children's world is blown apart, life will never be the same again.

Soon, the children--Jasper and little Lucy Modest, from London, England; Wallace Banneker, from New York, United States; Noah Canto-Sagas, from Toronto, Canada; and Faye Vigyanveta, from Delhi, India--find themselves in the ancient Italian village of Solemano, deep in a mystery that spans centuries. As they inch toward the truth of the men in black and the secrets they keep, one terrible fact remains:

Komar Romak is still out there. He's still after them, for reasons they can't even begin to imagine.

And he knows exactly where they are . . .

From the rolling plains of America to the wide-open waters of the Atlantic, through the Strait of Gibraltar to a remarkable village in the hills of Abruzzo, Italy, The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black, the second book of Eden Unger Bowditch's Young Inventors Guild trilogy, is an adventure like no other, as the children draw ever closer to the answers to the mysteries that surround them.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Does one need four fully grown foxgloves for decorating a dinner table for six guests? Or is it six foxgloves to kill four fully grown guests?

Sophronia's first year at Mademoiselle Geraldine's Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality has certainly been rousing! For one thing, finishing school is training her to be a spy--won't Mumsy be surprised? Furthermore, Sophronia got mixed up in an intrigue over a stolen device and had a cheese pie thrown at her in a most horrid display of poor manners.

Now, as she sneaks around the dirigible school, eavesdropping on the teachers' quarters and making clandestine climbs to the ship's boiler room, she learns that there may be more to a field trip to London than is apparent at first. A conspiracy is afoot--one with dire implications for both supernaturals and humans. Sophronia must rely on her training to discover who is behind the dangerous plot-and survive the London Season with a full dance card.

In this sequel to New York Times bestselling Etiquette & Espionage, class is back in session with more petticoats and poison, tea trays and treason. Gail's distinctive voice, signature humor, and lush steampunk setting are sure to be the height of fashion this season.

~*~

I picked this one as it is in keeping with my current virtual steampunk book event, TEA on The Filigree - you are invited, check it out.

~*~

* Waiting on Wednesday is sponsored by Jill at Breaking the Spine which spotlights upcoming releases that we're eagerly anticipating.

* I will email winners for mailing addresses within two weeks.
Winners, feel free to contact me with your info if you don't get my email
or if you are just too darn excited and want to let me know -- like NOW ;-D

“Almost, Miss GoldenBear. I do have a few more items to secure, if I may. How are you coming Mademoiselle?”

“Oh! I am zee chicken of Spring, I think!” I think. “It is a good thing that I travel light, too!”
That impossible Plumtartt girl. She is the sly one I think. How she cornered me with her incessant interrogations!

“Quite so. Good thing, that. I say.”

“Oh, oui! I am thinking this, too!”

Oh! That blasted woman! She infuriates me! I have made one concession after another. Still this British Nouveau Aristocrat, always gets her way! I have cast my beautiful wardrobe behind us, not unlike Fairy Tale children in a storybook forest. How it pains me to part with such lovelies.

“I say, I shall have to figure some manner of carrying my cello.”

I can contain myself no longer.

“Your cello must accompany us further, Mademoiselle Plumtartt! Is it not enough that I have long ago thrown aside many wonderful creations in an effort to support our merry little band. Oui! But for you to ask of us to carry your blasted cello, as we continue our journey into a frozen and devastating oblivion! No, Mademoiselle! I have not lost my temper in years! Perhaps many years! I always slay the offending party before I have to endure a moment of duress! But you! Too much I think, too!

“Actually, Mademoiselle, I was going to ask for some assistance with my hat boxes, as well.”

“Oh! It eez hat boxes too! This eez a pretty fancy hat I think. I shall have a look at this wonderful chapaeux that Miss Plumtartt clings to so fervently.”

I go to her hat box collection. I snatch one up. No, I get the separated shoulder for my efforts, almost, I think. This is a heavy hat to be sure! Even for my considerable strength.

I look back at Miss Plumtartt and Miss GoldenBear. They both look like they just ate a piece of cake behind my back, I think.

I am unsure of what I am looking at. It would appear to be a cannister of particular specialized purpose.

My Lady friends might be snickering at me.

“Am I correct in my evaluations, Miss Plumtartt?” I ask with much incredulity. “Are these munitions?”

She is looking like zee cat that ate the canary I think!

“Come to think of it, I have never heard you play the cello, too!”

I heft the musical instrument case.

I open the lid.

For the first time in many a long year, I feel my face go slack with awe.

“Very well Miss Plumtartt! I am in full agreement! You never know when we might need to hear a bit of music, I think.”

“I'll carry two hat boxes, You carry two boxes, and Miss Plumtartt, you shall keep your own instrument in tow.”

“How very sporting of you Ladies. I shall make every effort not to let you down in my duty.”

Perhaps I have been hasty with Miss Plumtartt. Her estimation grows in my eyes!

“I am going to cast for shelter and assistance.” from Miss GoldenBear.

A break in the wind is created for Miss GoldenBear. by Miss Plumtartt and me standing close together. Our black haired Indian Shaman says a prayer and casts a spell, throwing a pinch of dirt in a candle flame. She holds her eyes closed. After a moment she opens them.

“This way.” indicates Abigail GoldenBear.

This trudging through the snow, this is not mademoiselle's cup of tea. Mariage Freres Noel French, it eez not I think. But if these mortals can endure, then certainly so can I.

Miss GoldenBear has indeed found shelter! A village. An Eskimo encampment. They graciously take us in. Such hospitality! I am enamored of these generous people.

An elder of their tribe seems to recognize Miss GoldenBear. An excited twittering hush runs through the group. Miss GoldenBear is treated with great reverence. It is as if they are being visited by a Figure of Legend.

She handles this with easy aplomb.

I make an observation to, as Mr. Murray might say, 'create zee diversion.'

“These dresses I think, they have seen zee better days, no?”

“Yes. Quite. Are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?” smiles Miss Plumtartt.

“We are hundreds of miles from any sign of civilization. There is no need to stand on social customs or norms in this environment, and under these circumstances.” adds Miss GoldenBear. “Now is the appropriate time. Besides, who is going to see us?”

Before leaving Winniedepuh, Wolfgang took us out to do some shopping at some wonderful little specialty shops. We all built our own unique adventure outfits.

“Oh! Oui! Now is the time I think! No? Oui!”

We each take our bundles into our privately assigned igloo.

Oh! I am excited! A whole new style of clothes for me. Truly, this is adventure!

Stepping outside, I encounter a ray of Alaskan Winter sunlight. The distant Sun is barely able to push her radiations this far into the Northern latitudes. The weakened beams are no more than a tingle on my face.

A self examination is required.

Extra sturdy ankle boots adorn my petite feet. Fashionable, oui, but of a heavier construction than I normally would go in for, I think.

Hosiery is worn with a mind to warmth, not the intimacy of private titillations.

A short jacket protects my shoulders. A wonderful purple. It eez so hard to find a shade of purple that I am happy with! This enjoys a heavy lavender and maroon embroidery. A silk blouse with a cameo at my neck. My Dear Wolfgang designed the cameo for me. It is actually a representation of me! Mademoiselle DeeDee Gauzot! Oui!

I confess! The tiny little hat I wear is a nod to the modern fashions, but Mademoiselle must have her idiosyncrasies! Oui!

How I adore the bustle skirts! I feel completely undressed without a bustle to protect my posterior charms. But the skirts, they are proving less and less practical as we continue our journeys, I think. The Mademoiselle makes her bravest sacrifice of all!

Wolfgang and I have recently traveled through the Orient. We made a stop in the recently opened to trade country of Nippon. We saw many fascinating sights! One thing that sticks with Mademoiselle. Their brave Samurai Warriors! Sometimes appearing in voluminous, skirted and pleated pants. Hakamas. I borrow this design and have my tailor create a dress that combines several fashion aspects.

A lovely shimmering emerald satin hides the heavier, almost canvas material these rugged skirts possess. Velvet highlights and Alaskan woodland motifs décor the two “legs” of the deceptive skirted pants with intricate embroideries. Velvet flocking protects me on the inside, too! I do require the comfort! Oui!
A tasteful, conservative bustle protects my most delicate feature.

As her knee high boots find their footing, a living Totem Pole arises. Free of her civilized restraints, her frame seems to expand in welcome release. She stretches her body outward in a blossom of physical enjoyment, right to the outreached points of her fingertips.

Smiling, she shakes her thick black hair out behind and looks up into the gray skies with an inner glow that provides its own enlight-ment.

With a wide stance, she throws her head forward, flinging her onyx locks in an arcing parabola, and then immediately whipping them back, catching them up in her hands to gather a tail behind her head. In a way, reminiscent of our horses tails.

Tucked into the flapped-down top of her boots, go her brown leather pants. The supple hide firmly embraces her powerfully built legs. A zig-zag pattern of lacing details the outside seam. An inseam of a lighter skinned animal contrasts within her thighs.

A leather vest, matching in color and style of the pants, I think. Strongly inspiring the shape of an hourglass, too. The vest is just a tiny bit strained in its effort to contain this substantial girl.

A simple blouse is all that is necessary to protect this hearty child from the harsh elements.

Before me stands a woman that was only hinted at before. So great a girl has been hidden! Her magnificent hips, and bosom. Her shoulders squared, and head held high. I suddenly am unable to bring to mind a single man that can rival this girl's aura of control.

“Come along now, Miss Plumtartt! We are ready for you, I think.”

But the Mademoiselle is wrong.

I am not ready.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that emerged from that icy cocoon.

For the second time in as many days, the Mademoiselle, that is to say, I, am struck with the awe.

Despite the restrictions of my kind, I blanche at the impossibility before me.

I feel the blood drain from my bloodless face.

It takes all my self-control not to turn and flee this monstrous vision de horror!

“What eez that!” I scream!

Pausing in a reptilian crouch as the creature eats its way from its form changing husk.
It brings itself to its hind quarters.

Thickly soled boots, with an extraordinary amount of straps and buckles insinuate themselves all the way past her knees by four to six inches. Twelve to fourteen inches of indecent thigh, en-wrapped with black hosiery, is scandalously exposed before eventually making it to the bottom of the shameless girl's hem.

I knew Miss Plumtarttt required support for her ample bosom, but this, I think, is ridiculous!
Such a corset Mademoiselle is not familiar with! Though I have known of their existence.

Black Leather.

Buckles.

Open front, for the display of her décolletage.

I am so happy she bothered to wear a blouse! We are fortunate she wears anything at all, I think!

“What could be what?” the woman replies.

“This outfit, if one can call it such, is not one with which Mademoiselle wishes to be seen.”

“Mademoiselle, You have not been made aware, I am afraid. You see, I am a practitioner of a physical and mental art and discipline. Recent experiences led me to gain a remarkable amount of training in the Warring styles. A Gung Foo, is my form of practice. I find that the minimal hemline, though admittedly immodest, does allow for a free range of motion in hand to hand combat.”

“And zee outrageous corset, Madame?”

“I require support across the duodenum.” she sniffs.

Miss GoldenBear has procured us transport. The wonderful folk of this village! Their generosity knows no bounds! Oui!

The year is 1869. Earth experiences the close pass of a comet never before seen. In its wake, many of Terra's inhabitants find themselves changed. Among men, prodigies rise in unprecedented numbers, while many ordinary adults suddenly find themselves possessed of preternatural genius. Likewise, non-hominid animals become self-aware and intelligent.

Fast forward to 1875. A young “comet prodigy” from humble beginnings, Ichabod Temperance, has become the world's foremost inventor. He travels to England to deliver his latest brilliant invention to a famous explorer, until Fate intervenes. Meanwhile, a lovely young Bluestocking, Miss Persephone Plumtartt, survives an experimental accident only to find herself imbued with a power she can neither understand nor control, while dark forces and malevolent creatures pursue her, leaving a gruesome wake of death.

Yet, worse is to come. The naïve young inventor and the lovely intellectual find themselves fighting not only to save their own lives, but to prevent the destruction of all life on Earth.